


Call Me Back

by orionstarlight



Series: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Haikyuu Angst Week 2020, Insecurity, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27351205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionstarlight/pseuds/orionstarlight
Summary: “Thought you were asleep,” he says.Tsukishima takes his hand away, starting to walk, Yamaguchi following. “Lately I can’t sleep. Someone keeps texting me and then not answering my calls.”-----Tsukki finds a tear-stained Yamaguchi after a late night run. Day 2 of Angst Week.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Series: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995697
Comments: 2
Kudos: 93





	Call Me Back

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Phone calls/texts, Insecurity

* * *

He huffs, throwing the duvet off his body and sitting up, threading his fingers through his hair and tugging, begging his mind to let him get even some rest.

It’s late, so late that he doesn’t even know if he’s thinking anymore, but insomnia had kicked in early and now sleep doesn’t even seem like an option.

It’s not that he hasn’t tried to fall asleep. Medicine, warm milk, boring documentaries — you name it, it hasn’t worked. When he’s alone, all he can do is wander from one room to another, trying to get comfortable, failing each time he gets settled.

He rubs at his eyes, wishing there was something that could solve his tiredness. How long is he supposed to go without sleeping?

He chews on his lip, hoping the pain will bring him some sense of relief. He glances down at his phone, at the last text he sent, wishing he could delete it, wishing it had never sent.

**Hey**

He’s in the bathroom again tonight, being as quiet as he can, hoping he won’t wake his parents up. The figure in the mirror looks back at him, frown on his face, worry written on his forehead. Thousands of needles whiz into the skin on his neck, igniting his tear ducts.

He wipes them away as soon as they fall, angry at his weakness. He doesn’t want to stare at those freckles of his he knows damn well aren’t freckles.

Socks quiet on the floors of his house, he exits the bathroom, walking down the stairs, avoiding the creaks he knows so well. Takes a bottle of water from the fridge and slides open the door to the garden, sitting down on the stone step.

Against better reasoning, he unlocks his phone and types out another text that he sends before he can regret it.

**Up?**

The message glares at him from his phone screen. He shouldn’t be bothering him this late, there’s no point. He needs to learn to get through things on his own.

He stands up and puts on his running shoes, plugging his earphones in and walking out the side gate, pressing play and he starts jogging in the crisp spring air. He’ll be back before anyone wakes up; he always is.

The concrete feels familiar under his feet as he pushes himself, circling the neighbourhood as many times as he can, desperate to exhaust himself. It won’t work, he knows that, but even trying makes his shoulders feel a little lighter.

It’s easier to breathe when he’s running at night, unfocused on what he looks like, just running because he can, because there’s no one around and he feels like a bird that’s finally grown its wings.

And then he sees his reflection in a shop window and he trips, earphones ripped from his ears, head hitting the ground.

He sits up, clutching up at his head, wincing. Nothing’s bleeding, but the graze still hurts, and his reflection in the window looks worse than before, and he throws his fist at the ground, desperately trying to blink the tears away.

He pushes himself up, walking home instead of running, hands stuffed in his pockets as he tries to forget what he looks like. In the mornings he just brushes his teeth and his hair, avoiding looking at his full image, and if anything is out of place his mother will catch him before he’s out the door.

His fingers trace over the bumps on his slippery cheeks, nails digging into his palms when he takes them away. He knows better than to fixate, but he can’t help it, can’t stop himself. If everyone else can see it how the hell is he supposed to ignore it?

He sniffs and checks the time on his phone, eyes going from the digital clock to the three missed calls and the five unseen messages.

**Hey**

**Yeah**

**You shouldn’t be**

**You go to bed yet?**

**Probably not**

He shouldn't have bothered him. He’s probably woken him up and made him worry unnecessarily. He knows better than to text him this late, better than to give him a headache when he can deal with this himself.

“You should look up from your phone or you’re gonna bump into someone,” says the blond boy with the glasses, stopping Yamaguchi from bumping into him by placing a hand on his head while he’s walking.

“Thought you were asleep,” he says.

Tsukishima takes his hand away, starting to walk, Yamaguchi following. “Lately I can’t sleep. Someone keeps texting me and then not answering my calls.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. No reply. They’re walking in silence tonight, or for now at least, but he’s just happy they’re walking.

They get to the bottom of the hill, looking out at the rest of the town stretching out below them, leaning on the railing as the moon and street lamps illuminate what the sun usually does. The air always feels heavier when they stand in the night together like this.

“Why were you crying?”

Yamaguchi’s grip tightens on the railing as his throat constricts, burning. He was hoping he hadn’t noticed, or even if he had, that he wouldn’t bring it up. He doesn’t want to answer. He won’t answer.

“Your eyes are red and puffy, you’ve got a nasty graze on the side of your forehead, but you don’t cry over injuries, and you’re holding onto that railing like I’ve asked you a question that makes you want to punch me.”

Deep breaths. “Why do you worry about someone who isn’t enough for you?” The question is one he’s never been brave enough to ask Tsukishima before.

“You don’t think you’re enough for me?” he asks back, looking down at the boy who’s only slightly shorter than him, confused as to how wearing glasses is somehow impeding his hearing. “What brought this on?”

“Oh, you know… everything. After all, I’m only good at one thing, I follow you around everywhere, and it’s impossible to look at me without feeling sorry for me.”

Tsukki takes away the hands that cover his face, looking him in the eyes that are slowly tearing up again. “Didn’t I tell you your reflection isn’t accurate? All that thing does is fuel insecurities.”

“There’s a difference between insecurities and truth.”

“Tadashi, I don’t show up for a midnight walk for just anyone, you know? Definitely not for someone who I might think isn’t enough for me.” His thumbs trace the bumps on his slippery cheeks. “I like these. You might hate them, but I like these a lot.”

“They’re awful,” he whispers. “They’re ugly, repulsive. Why would you ever like them?”

“I need a reason to like a part of you?” questions Tsukishima, baffled that Yamaguchi would even ask something like that after everything they’ve been through together.

Yama takes Tsukki’s hands by the wrists, pulling them away. His insides are twisted with guilt at dragging him out here, wordlessly asking him for reassurance he’ll forget about when he wakes up in the morning from a night of restless tossing and turning.

Tsukishima’s lips briefly press themselves against Yamaguchi’s forehead before he takes his hand and leads him away from the railing. “Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t let him go the entire walk, even when they pass Yama’s house and keep walking, right up to Tsukki’s side door in his garden and they move through the house in silence, socks quiet on the floorboards all the way to his bedroom.

He places his glasses on the bedside table and then pulls him into bed, wrapping his legs around the very base of his torso, holding his hands in his and their foreheads inches away from each other.

“When I take my glasses off, everything in the distance becomes blurry, but everything close to me is clear as a cloudless day. That means, when I’m this close to you, I can look at your face and see your perfect imperfections, and I get to fall in love with you all over again.”

“I cry so much over this one thing and you still love me?” He can’t stop asking the questions he’s held inside him for so long.

“Would you still love me if I cried more than I actually do?”

Yamaguchi pulls away a little, shocked. “Of course I would. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Then why don’t you believe me when I tell you I love you, tears and all? Insecurities and all? Acne and all?”

He isn’t sure how to answer. He’s never thought about why Tsukishima loves him despite all those things for long enough to come up with an answer. He’d always give up after a while, angry at the fact that his mind would always be empty.

“Because, Kei, why would someone like you ever fall in love with someone like me?”

“You’re my best friend, stupid. Who else was I gonna fall in love with?” he replies, cupping his face in his palms, thumbs tracing those uneven freckles as he leans in and kisses him, hoping it’ll make him realise just how serious he’s being.

He pulls away and Yamaguchi smiles slightly, blushing. “Can I apologise for bothering you tonight?”

“Not a chance. Just call me back next time, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he agrees, pushing him down onto the bed and wrapping his arms around his neck, his insomnia floating away now that he’s not alone anymore.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> [my ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/erissapphic)


End file.
